UC-NRLF 


3Tan  pap 


THE  FIRST  HUNDRED  THOUSAND* 

SCALLYrTHE  STORY  OF  A  PERFECT  GENTLE- 

MAN.    With  Frontispiece. 
A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS. 

HAPPY-GO-LUCKY.   Illustrated  by  Charle*  E.  Brock. 
A  SAFETY  MATCH.    With  frontispiece. 
A  MAN'S  MAN.     With  frontisniece. 
THE  RIGHT  STUFF.    With  frontispiece, 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  Youe 


SCALLY 


THE    LEADIMG    OBJECT    PROVED    TO    BE    A    SMALL,    WET, 
SHIVERIKG,    WH1MPERLNG    PUPPY 


S  C  A  L  L  Y 

THE  STORY  OF  A  PERFECT 
GENTLEMAN 


BY  IAN  HAY 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1914,   BY  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,    1915,   BY   IAN  HAY   BEITH 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  November  IQIJ 


SCALLY 


355263 


S  C  A  L  L  Y 

THE  STORY  OF  A  PERFECT 
GENTLEMAN 

I 

" BETTERSEA  trem?  Right,  miss!" 
My  wife,  who  has  been  married  long 
enough  to  feel  deeply  gratified  at 
being  mistaken  for  a  maiden  lady, 
smiled  seraphically  at  the  conductor, 
and  allowed  herself  to  be  hoisted  up 
the  steps  of  the  majestic  vehicle  pro- 
vided by  a  paternal  county  council  to 
convey  passengers  —  at  a  loss  to  the 
ratepayers,  I  understand  —  from  the 
Embankment  to  Battersea. 

Presently  we  ground  our  way 
round  a  curve  and  began  to  cross 
Westminster  Bridge.  The  conductor, 

[3] 


SCALLY 

whose  innate  cockney  bonhomie  his 
high  official  position  had  failed  to 
eradicate,  presented  himself  before  us 
and  collected  our  fares. 

"What  part  of  Bettersea  did  you 
require,  sir?"  he  asked  of  me. 

I  coughed  and  answered  eva- 
sively:— 

"Oh,  about  the  middle." 

"We  haven't  been  there  before," 
added  my  wife,  quite  gratuitously. 

The  conductor  smiled  indulgently 
and  punched  our  tickets. 

"I'll  tell  you  when  to  get  down," 
he  said,  and  left  us. 

For  some  months  we  had  been  con- 
sidering the  question  of  buying  a  dog, 
and  a  good  deal  of  our  spare  time  — 
or  perhaps  I  should  say  of  my  spare 
time,  for  a  woman's  time  is  naturally 
all  her  own  —  had  been  pleasantly 
[4] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

occupied  in  discussing  the  matter. 
Having  at  length  committed  our- 
selves to  the  purchase  of  the  animal, 
we  proceeded  to  consider  such  details 
as  breed,  sex,  and  age. 

My  wife  vacillated  between  a 
bloodhound,  because  bloodhounds 
are  so  aristocratic  in  appearance,  and 
a  Pekinese,  because  they  are  dernier 
cri.  We  like  to  be  dernier  cri  even  in 
Much  Moreham.  Her  younger  sister, 
Eileen,  who  spends  a  good  deal  of 
time  with  us,  having  no  parents  of  her 
own,  suggested  an  Old  English  sheep 
dog,  explaining  that  it  would  be  com- 
pany for  my  wife  when  I  was  away 
from  home.  I  coldly  recommended  a 
mastiff. 

Our  son  John,  aged  three,  on  being 
consulted,  expressed  a  preference  for 
twelve  tigers  in  a  box,  and  was  not 

[5] 


SCALLY 

again  invited  to  participate  in  the 
debate. 

Finally  we  decided  on  an  Aberdeen 
terrier,  of  an  age  and  sex  to  be  settled 
by  circumstances,  and  I  was  in- 
structed to  communicate  with  a  gen- 
tleman in  the  North  who  advertised 
in  our  morning  paper  that  Aberdeen 
terriers  were  his  specialty.  In  due 
course  we  received  a  reply.  The  ad- 
vertiser recommended  two  animals 
—  namely,  Celtic  Chief,  aged  four 
months,  and  Scotia's  Pride,  aged  one 
year.  Pedigrees  were  inclosed,  each 
about  as  complicated  as  the  family 
tree  of  the  House  of  Hapsburg;  and 
the  favor  of  an  early  reply  was  re- 
quested, as  both  dogs  were  being 
hotly  bid  for  by  an  anonymous  cli- 
ent in  Constantinople. 

The    price    of   Celtic    Chief  was 

[6] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

twenty  guineas;  that  of  Scotia's 
Pride,  for  reasons  heavily  underlined 
in  the  pedigree,  was  twenty-seven. 
The  advertiser,  who  resided  in  Aber- 
deen, added  that  these  prices  did  not 
cover  cost  of  carriage.  We  decided 
not  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  gentle- 
man in  Constantinople,  and  having 
sent  back  the  pedigrees  by  return  of 
post,  resumed  the  debate. 

Finally  Stella,  my  wife,  said:  — 
44  We  don't  really  want  a  dog  with 
a  pedigree.  We  only  want  something 
that  will  bark  at  beggars  and  be  gen- 
tle with  baby.  Why  not  go  to  the 
Home  for  Lost  Dogs  at  Battersea?  I 
believe  you  can  get  any  dog  you  like 
there  for  five  shillings.  We  will  run 
up  to  town  next  Wednesday  and  see 
about  it  —  and  I  might  get  some 
clothes  as  well." 

[7] 


SCALLY 

Hence  our  presence  on  the  tram. 

Presently  the  conductor,  who  had 
kindly  pointed  out  to  us  such  ob- 
jects of  local  interest  as  the  River 
Thames  and  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, stopped  the  tram  in  a  crowded 
thoroughfare  and  announced  that 
we  were  in  Battersea. 

"Alight  here,"  he  announced  face- 
tiously, "for  'Ome  for  Lost  Dawgs!" 

Guiltily  realizing  that  there  is  many 
a  true  word  spoken  in  jest,  we  obeyed 
him,  and  the  tram  went  rocking  and 
whizzing  out  of  sight.  We  had 
eschewed  a  cab. 

"When  you  are  only  going  to  pay 
five  shillings  for  a  dog,"  my  wife  had 
pointed  out,  with  convincing  logic, 
"it  is  silly  to  go  and  pay  perhaps  an- 
other five  shillings  for  a  cab.  It 
doubles  the  price  of  the  dog  at  once. 

[8] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

If  we  had  been  buying  an  expensive 
dog  we  might  have  taken  a  cab;  but 
not  for  a  five-shilling  one." 

"Now,"  I  inquired  briskly,  "how 
are  we  going  to  find  this  place?" 

"Haven't  you  any  idea  where  it 
is?" 

"  No.  I  have  a  sort  of  vague  notion 
that  it  is  on  an  island  in  the  middle 
of  the  river,  called  the  Isle  of  Dogs, 
or  Barking  Reach,  or  something  like 
that.  However,  I  have  no  doubt  - 

"  Had  n't  we  better  ask  some  one?  " 
suggested  Stella. 

I  demurred. 

"If  there  is  one  thing  I  dislike,"  I 
said,  "it  is  accosting  total  strangers 
and  badgering  them  for  information 
they  don't  possess  —  not  that  that 
will  prevent  them  from  giving  it.  If 
we  start  asking  the  way  we  shall  find 
[9] 


SCALLY 

ourselves  in  Putney  or  Woolwich  in 
no  time!" 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  Stella  soothingly. 

"Now  I  suggest — "  My  hand 
went  to  my  pocket. 

"  No,  darling,"  interposed  my  wife, 
hastily;  "not  a  map,  please!"  It  is  a 
curious  psychological  fact  that  wom- 
en have  a  constitutional  aversion  to 
maps  and  railroad  time-tables.  They 
would  rather  consult  a  half-witted 
errand  boy  or  a  deaf  railroad  porter. 
"Do  not  let  us  make  a  spectacle  of 
ourselves  in  the  public  streets  again! 
I  have  not  yet  forgotten  the  day  when 
you  tried  to  find  the  Crystal  Palace. 
Besides,  it  will  only  blow  away.  Ask 
that  dear  little  boy  there.  He  is  look- 
ing at  us  so  wistfully." 

Yes;  I  admit  it  was  criminal  folly. 
A  man  who  asks  a  London  street  boy 
[  10] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

to  be  so  kind  as  to  direct  him  to  a 
Home  for  Lost  Dogs  has  only  himself 
to  thank  for  the  consequence. 

The  wistful  little  boy  smiled  up  at 
us.  He  had  a  pinched  face  and  large 
eyes. 

"Lost  Dogs'  'Ome,  sir?"  he  said 
courteously.  "It's  a  good  long  way. 
Do  you  want  to  get  there  quick?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  if  I  was  you,  sir,"  replied 
the  infant,  edging  to  the  mouth  of  an 
alleyway,  "I  should  bite  a  police- 
man!" And,  with  an  ear-splitting 
yell,  he  vanished. 

We  walked  on,  hot-faced. 

"Little  wretch!"  said  Stella. 

"We  simply  asked  for  it,"  I  re- 
joined. "What  are  we  going  to  do 
next?" 

My  question  was  answered  in  a 


SCALLY 

most  incredible  fashion,  for  at  this 
moment  a  man  emerged  from  a  shop 
on  our  right  and  set  off  down  the 
street  before  us.  He  wore  a  species  "of 
uniform;  and  emblazoned  on  the 
front  of  his  hat  was  the  information 
that  he  was  an  official  of  the  Bat- 
tersea  Home  for  Lost  and  Starving 
Dogs. 

"Wait  a  minute  and  I  will  ask 
him,"  I  said,  starting  forward. 

But  my  wife  would  not  hear  of  it. 

" Certainly  not,"  she  replied.  "If 
we  ask  him  he  will  simply  offer  to 
show  us  the  way.  Then  we  shall  have 
to  talk  to  him  —  about  hydrophobia, 
and  lethal  chambers,  and  distemper 
—  and  it  may  be  for  miles.  I  simply 
could  n't  bear  it!  We  shall  have  to 
tip  him,  too.  Let  us  follow  him 
quietly." 

I    12    ] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

To  those  who  have  never  attempt- 
ed to  track  a  fellow  creature  sur- 
reptitiously through  the  streets  of 
London  on  a  hot  day,  the  feat  may 
appear  simple.  It  is  in  reality  a  most 
exhausting,  dilatory,  and  humiliating 
exercise.  Our  difficulty  lay  not  so 
much  in  keeping  our  friend  in  sight 
as  in  avoiding  frequent  and  unex- 
pected collisions  with  him.  The 
general  idea,  as  they  say  on  field 
days,  was  to  keep  about  twenty 
yards  behind  him;  but  under  certain 
circumstances  distance  has  an  un- 
canny habit  of  annihilating  itself. 
The  man  himself  was  no  hustler. 
Once  or  twice  he  stopped  to  light 
his  pipe  or  converse  with  a  friend. 

During  these  interludes  Stella  and 
I  loafed  guiltily  on  the  pavement, 
pointing  out  to  one  another  objects 


SCALLY 

of  local  interest  with  the  fatuous 
officiousness  of  people  in  the  fore- 
ground of  hotel  advertisements.  Oc- 
casionally he  paused  to  contemplate 
the  contents  of  a  shop  window.  We 
gazed  industriously  into  the  window 
next  door.  Our  first  window,  I  recol- 
lect, was  an  undertaker's,  with  ready- 
printed  expressions  of  grief  for  sale 
on  white  porcelain  disks.  We  had 
time  to  read  them  all.  The  next  was 
a  butcher's.  Here  we  stayed,  per- 
force, so  long  that  the  proprietor, 
who  was  of  the  tribe  that  disposes  of 
its  wares  almost  entirely  by  personal 
canvass,  came  out  into  the  street 
and  endeavored  to  sell  us  a  bullock's 
heart. 

Our  quarry's  next  proceeding  was 
to  dive  into  a  public  house.  We 
turned  and  surveyed  one  another. 


SCALLY 

"What  are  we  to  do  now?"  in- 
quired my  wife. 

"Go  inside,  too,"  I  replied  with 
more  enthusiasm  than  I  had  hitherto 
displayed.  "At  least,  I  think  I  ought 
to.  You  can  please  yourself." 

"I  will  not  be  left  in  the  street," 
said  Stella  firmly.  "We  must  just 
wait  here  together  until  he  comes  out." 

"There  may  be  another  exit,"  I 
objected.  "We  had  better  go  in.  I 
shall  take  something,  just  to  keep  up 
appearances;  and  you  must  sit  down 
in  the  ladies'  bar,  or  the  snug,  or 
whatever  they  call  it." 

"Certainly  not!"  said  Stella. 

We  had  arrived  at  this  impasse 
when  the  man  suddenly  reappeared, 
wiping  his  mouth.  Instantly  and  si- 
lently we  fell  in  behind  him. 

For  the  first  time  the  man  ap- 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

peared  to  notice  our  presence.  He 
regarded  us  curiously,  with  a  faint 
gleam  of  recognition  in  his  eyes,  and 
then  set  off  down  the  street  at  a  good 
pace.  We  followed,  panting.  Once  or 
twice  he  looked  back  over  his  shoul- 
der a  little  apprehensively,  I  thought. 
But  we  ploughed  on. 

"We  ought  to  get  there  soon  at 
this  pace,"  I  gasped.  "Hello!  He's 
gone  again!" 

"He  turned  down  to  the  right," 
said  Stella  excitedly. 

The  lust  of  the  chase  was  fairly  on 
us  now.  We  swung  eagerly  round 
the  corner  into  a  quiet  by-street. 
Our  man  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  and 
the  street  was  almost  empty. 

"  Come  on ! "  said  Stella.  "  He  may 
have  turned  in  somewhere." 

We  hurried  down  the  street.   Sud- 

[  16  ] 


SCALLY 

denly,  warned  by  a  newly  awakened 
and  primitive  instinct,  I  looked  back. 
We  had  overrun  our  quarry.  He  had 
just  emerged  from  some  hiding  place 
and  was  heading  back  toward  the 
main  street,  looking  fearfully  over  his 
shoulder.  Once  more  we  were  in  full 

\  crY- 

For  the  next  five  minutes  we  prac- 
tically ran  —  all  three  of  us.  The 
man  was  obviously  frightened  out  of 
his  wits,  and  kept  making  frenzied 
and  spasmodic  spurts,  from  which  we 
surmised  that  he  was  getting  to  the 
end  of  his  powers  of  endurance. 

"If  only  we  could  overtake  him," 
I  said,  hauling  my  exhausted  spouse 
along  by  the  arm,  "we  could  explain 
that—" 

"He's  gone  again!"  exclaimed 
Stella. 

[17] 


SCALLY 

She  was  right.  The  man  had  turned 
another  corner.  We  followed  him 
round  hotfoot,  and  found  ourselves 
in  a  prim  little  cul-de-sac,  with  villas 
on  each  side.  Across  the  end  of  the 
street  ran  a  high  wall,  obviously 
screening  a  railroad  track. 

" We've  got  him!"  I  exclaimed. 

I  felt  as  Moltke  must  have  felt 
when  he  closed  the  circle  at  Sedan. 

"But  where  is  the  Dogs'  Home, 
dear?"  inquired  Stella. 

The  question  was  never  answered, 
for  at  this  moment  the  man  ran  up 
the  steps  of  the  fourth  villa  on  the 
left  and  slipped  a  latchkey  into  the 
lock.  The  door  closed  behind  him 
with  a  venomous  snap  and  we  were 
left  alone  in  the  street,  guideless  and 
dogless. 

A  minute  later  the  man  appeared 

[  18  ] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

at  the  ground-floor  window,  accom- 
panied by  a  female  of  commanding 
appearance.  He  pointed  us  out  to 
her.  Behind  them  we  could  dimly 
descry  a  white  tablecloth,  a  tea  cozy 
and  covered  dishes. 

The  commanding  female,  after  a 
prolonged  and  withering  glare, 
plucked  a  hairpin  from  her  head  and 
ostentatiously  proceeded  to  skewer 
together  the  starchy  white  curtains 
that  framed  the  window.  Privacy 
secured  and  the  sanctity  of  the  Eng- 
lish home  thus  pointedly  vindicated, 
she  and  her  husband  disappeared 
into  the  murky  background,  where 
they  doubtless  sat  down  to  an  excel- 
lent high  tea.  Exhausted  and  discom- 
fited, we  drifted  away. 

"I  am  going  home,"  said  Stella  in 
a  hollow  voice.  "And  I  think,"  she 
[  19] 


SCALLY 

added  bitterly,  "that  it  might  have 
occurred  to  you  to  suggest  that  the 
creature  might  possibly  be  going 
from  the  Dogs'  Home  and  not  to  it." 
I  apologized.  It  is  the  simplest 
plan,  really. 


II 

IT  was  almost  dark  when  the  train 
arrived  at  our  little  country  station. 
We  set  out  to  walk  home  by  the  short 
cut  across  the  golf  course. 

"Anyhow,  we  have  saved  five  shil- 
lings," remarked  Stella. 

"  We  paid  half  a  crown  for  that  taxi 
which  took  us  back  to  Victoria  Sta- 
tion," I  reminded  her. 

"  Do  not  argue  to-night,  darling," 
responded  my  wife.  "I  simply  can- 
not endure  anything  more." 

Plainly  she  was  a  little  unstrung. 
Very  considerately,  I  selected  an- 
other topic. 

44 1  think  our  best  plan,"  I  said 
cheerfully,  "would  be  to  advertise 
for  a  dog." 

[21    ] 


SCALLY 

"I  never  wish  to  see  a  dog  again," 
replied  Stella. 

I  surveyed  her  with  some  concern 
and  said  gently:  — 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  tired,  dear." 

"No;  I'm  not." 

"A  little  shaken,  perhaps?" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind.  Joe,  what 
is  that?" 

Stella's  fingers  bit  deep  into  my 
biceps  muscle,  causing  me  consider- 
able pain.  We  were  passing  a  small 
sheet  of  water  which  guards  the  thir- 
teenth green  on  the  golf  course.  It  is 
a  stagnant  and  unclean  pool,  but  we 
make  rather  a  fuss  of  it.  We  call  it 
the  pond;  and  if  you  play  a  ball  into 
it  you  send  a  blasphemous  caddie  in 
after  it  and  count  one  stroke. 

A  young  moon  was  struggling  up 
over  the  trees,  dismally  illuminating 

[22] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

the  scene.  On  the  slimy  shores  of  the 
pond  we  beheld  a  small  moving  object. 

A  yard  behind  it  was  another  ob- 
ject, a  little  smaller,  moving  at  ex- 
actly the  same  pace.  One  of  the  ob- 
jects was  emitting  sounds  of  distress. 

Abandoning  my  quaking  consort 
I  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  pond 
and  leaned  down  to  investigate  the 
mystery. 

The  leading  object  proved  to  be 
a  small,  wet,  shivering,  whimpering 
puppy.  The  satellite  was  a  brick. 
The  two  were  connected  by  a  string. 
The  puppy  had  just  emerged  from 
the  depths  of  the  pond,  towing  the 
brick  behind  it. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  repeated  Stella 
fearfully. 

44  Your  dog!"  I  replied,  and  cut  the 
string. 


Ill 

WE  spent  three  days  deciding  on  a 
name  for  him.  Stella  suggested  Tiny, 
on  account  of  his  size.  I  pointed  out 
that  time  might  stultify  this  selection 
of  a  title. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Eileen, 
supporting  her  sister.  "That  kind  of 
dog  does  not  grow  very  big." 

"What  kind  of  dog  is  he?"  I  in- 
quired swiftly. 

Eileen  said  no  more.  There  are 
problems  that  even  girls  of  twenty 
cannot  solve. 

A  warm  bath  had  revealed  to  us 
the  fact  that  the  puppy  was  of  a 
dingy  yellow  hue.  I  suggested  that 
we  should  call  him  Mustard.  Our 
son  John,  on  being  consulted  — 

[24] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

against  my  advice  —  by  his  mother, 
addressed  the  animal  as  Pussy.  Stel- 
la continued  to  favor  Tiny.  Finally 
Eileen,  who  was  at  the  romantic  age, 
produced  a  copy  of  Tennyson  and 
suggested  Excalibur,  alleging  in  sup- 
port of  her  preposterous  proposition 
that 

It  rose  from  out  the  bosom  of  the  lake. 

"The  darling  rose  from  out  the 
bosom  of  the  lake,  too,  just  like  the 
sword  Excalibur,"  she  said;  "so  I 
think  it  would  make  a  lovely  name 
for  him." 

"The  little  brute  waded  out  of  a 
muddy  pond  towing  a  brick,"  I  re- 
plied. "  I  see  no  parallel.  He  was  not 
the  product  of  the  pond.  Some  one 
must  have  thrown  him  in,  and  he 
came  out." 


SCALLY 

"That  is  just  what  some  one  must 
have  done  with  the  sword,"  retorted 
Eileen.  "  So  we  '11  call  you  Excalibur, 
won't  we,  darling  little  Scally?" 

She  embraced  the  puppy  warmly 
and  the  unsuspecting  animal  replied 
by  frantically  licking  her  face. 

However,  the  name  stuck,  with 
variations.  When  the  puppy  was  big 
enough  he  was  presented  with  a  col- 
lar, engraved  with  the  name  Excali- 
bur, together  with  my  name  and 
address.  Among  ourselves  we  usually 
addressed  him  as  Scally.  The  chil- 
dren in  the  village  called  him  the 
Scalawag. 

His  time  during  his  first  year  in  our 
household  was  fully  occupied  in  grow- 
ing up.  Stella  declared  that  if  one 
could  have  persuaded  him  to  stand 
still  for  five  minutes  it  would  have 
[  26  ] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

been  actually  possible  to  see  him 
grow.  He  grew  at  the  rate  of  about 
an  inch  a  week  for  the  best  part  of  a 
year.  When  he  had  finished  he  looked 
like  nothing  on  earth.  At  one  time 
we  cherished  a  brief  but  illusory  hope 
that  he  was  going  to  turn  into  some 
sort  of  an  imitation  of  a  St.  Bernard; 
but  the  symptoms  rapidly  passed  off, 
and  his  final  and  permanent  aspect 
was  that  of  a  rather  badly  stuffed 
lion. 

Like  most  overgrown  creatures  he 
was  top-heavy  and  lethargic  and 
very  humble-minded.  Still,  there 
was  a  kind  of  respectful  pertinacity 
about  him.  It  requires  some  strength 
of  character,  for  instance,  to  wade 
along  the  bottom  of  a  pond  to  dry 
land,  accompanied  by  a  brick  as  big 
as  yourself.  It  was  quite  impossible, 
[27  ] 


SCALLY 

too,  short  of  locking  him  up,  to  pre- 
vent him  from  accompanying  us 
when  we  took  our  walks  abroad,  if 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  so. 

The  first  time  this  happened  I  was 
going  to  shoot  with  my  neighbors, 
the  Hoods.  It  was  only  a  mile  to  the 
first  covert  and  I  set  off  after  break- 
fast to  walk.  I  was  hardly  out  on  the 
road  when  Excalibur  was  beside  me, 
ambling  uncertainly  on  his  weedy 
legs  and  smiling  up  into  my  face  with 
an  air  of  imbecile  affection. 

"You  have  many  qualities,  old 
friend,"  I  said,  "but  I  don't  think 
you  are  a  sporting  dog.  Go  home!" 

Excalibur  sat  down  on  the  road 
with  a  dejected  air.  Then,  having 
given  me  fifty  yards  start,  he  rose 
and  crawled  sheepishly  after  me.  I 
stopped,  called  him  up,  pointed  him 
[28] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

with  some  difficulty  in  the  required 
direction,  gave  him  a  resounding 
spank  and  bade  him  begone.  He 
responded  by  collapsing  like  a  camp 
bedstead,  and  I  left  him. 

Two  minutes  later  I  looked  round. 
Excalibur  was  ten  yards  behind  me, 
propelling  himself  along  on  his  stom- 
ach. This  time  I  thrashed  him  se- 
verely. After  he  began  to  howl  I  let 
him  go,  and  he  lumbered  away  home- 
ward, the  picture  of  misery. 

In  due  course  I  reached  the  cross- 
roads where  I  had  arranged  to  meet 
the  rest  of  the  party.  They  had  not 
arrived,  but  Excalibur  had.  He  had 
made  a  detour  and  headed  me  off. 
Not  certain  which  route  I  would  take 
after  reaching  the  crossroads,  he  was 
sitting  very  sensibly  under  the  sign- 
post, awaiting  my  arrival.  On  seeing 
[  29  j 


SCALLY 

me  he  immediately  came  forward, 
wagging  his  tail,  and  placed  himself 
at  my  feet  in  the  position  most  con- 
venient to  me  for  inflicting  chastise- 
ment. 

I  wonder  how  many  of  our  human 
friends  would  be  willing  to  pay  such  a 
price  for  the  pleasure  of  our  company. 

As  time  went  on  Excalibur  filled 
out  into  one  of  the  most  terrifying 
spectacles  I  have  ever  beheld.  In 
one  respect,  though,  he  lived  up  to 
his  knightly  name.  His  manners  were 
of  the  most  courtly  description  and 
he  had  an  affectionate  greeting  for 
all,  beggars  included.  He  was  par- 
ticularly fond  of  children.  If  he  saw 
children  in  the  distance  he  would 
canter  up  and  offer  to  play  with  them. 
If  the  children  had  not  met  him  be- 
fore they  would  run  shrieking  to  their 

[3o] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

nurses.  If  they  had  they  would  fall 
on  Excalibur  in  a  body  and  roll  him 
over  and  pull  him  about. 

On  wet  afternoons,  in  the  nursery, 
my  own  family  used  to  play  at  den- 
tist with  him,  assigning  to  Excalibur 
the  role  of  patient.  Gas  was  admin- 
istered with  a  bicycle  pump,  and  a 
shoehorn  and  buttonhook  were  em- 
ployed in  place  of  the  ordinary  instru- 
ments of  torture;  but  Excalibur  did 
not  mind.  He  lay  on  his  back  on  the 
hearth  rug,  with  the  principal  dentist 
sitting  astride  his  ribs,  as  happy  as  a 
king. 

He  was  particularly  attracted  by 
babies;  and  being  able  by  reason  of 
his  stature  to  look  right  down  into 
perambulators,  he  was  accustomed 
whenever  he  met  one  of  those  ve- 
hicles to  amble  alongside  and  peer 


SCALLY 

inquiringly  into  the  face  of  its  occu- 
pant. Most  of  the  babies  in  the  dis- 
trict got  to  know  him  in  time,  but 
until  they  did  we  had  a  good  deal  of 
correspondence  to  attend  to  on  the 
subject. 

Excalibur's  intellect  may  have 
been  lofty,  but  his  memory  was 
treacherous.  Our  household  will  nev- 
er forget  the  day  on  which  he  was 
given  the  shoulder  of  mutton. 

One  morning  after  breakfast  Ei- 
leen, accompanied  by  Excalibur,  in- 
tercepted the  kitchen  maid  hastening 
in  the  direction  of  the  potting  shed, 
carrying  the  joint  in  question  at 
arm's  length.  The  damsel  explained 
that  its  premature  maturity  was  due 
to  the  recent  warm  weather  and  that 
she  was  even  now  in  search  of  the 
gardener's  boy,  who  would  be  com- 

[32    ] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

missioned  to  perform  the  duties  of 
sexton. 

"It  seems  a  waste,  miss,"  observed 
the  kitchen  maid;  "but  cook  says  it 
can't  be  ate  nohow  now." 

Loud  but  respectful  snuffings  from 
Excalibur  moved  a  direct  negative  to 
this  statement.  Eileen  and  the  kitch- 
en maid,  who  were  both  criminally 
weak  where  Excalibur  was  concerned, 
saw  a  way  to  gratify  their  economical 
instincts  and  their  natural  affection 
simultaneously.  The  next  moment 
Excalibur  was  lurching  contentedly 
down  the  gravel  path  with  a  presen- 
tation shoulder  of  mutton  in  his 
mouth. 

Then  Joy  Day  began.  Excalibur 
took  his  prize  into  the  middle  of  the 
tennis  lawn.  It  was  a  very  large 
shoulder  of  mutton,  but  Excalibur 

[33] 


SCALLY 

finished  it  in  ten  minutes.  After  that, 
distended  to  his  utmost  limits,  he 
went  to  sleep  in  the  sun,  with  the 
bone  between  his  paws.  Occasion- 
ally he  woke  up  and,  raising  his  head, 
stared  solemnly  into  space,  in  the 
attitude  of  a  Trafalgar  Square  lion. 

The  bone  now  lay  white  and  gleam- 
ing on  the  grass  beside  him.  Then  he 
fell  asleep  again.  About  four  o'clock 
he  roused  himself  and  began  to  look 
for  a  suitable  place  of  interment  for 
the  bone.  By  four-thirty  the  deed 
was  done  and  he  went  to  sleep  once 
more.  At  five  he  woke  up  and  pan- 
demonium began.  He  could  not  re- 
member where  he  had  buried  the  bone ! 

He  started  systematically  with  the 
rose  beds,  but  met  with  no  success. 
After  that  he  tried  two  or  three 
shrubberies  without  avail,  and  then 

[  34] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

embarked  on  a  frantic  but  thorough 
excavation  of  the  tennis  lawn.  We 
were  taking  tea  on  the  lawn  at  the 
time,  and  our  attention  was  first 
drawn  to  Excalibur's  bereavement  by 
a  temporary  but  unshakable  convic- 
tion on  his  part  that  the  bone  was 
buried  immediately  underneath  the 
tea  table. 

As  the  tennis  lawn  was  fast  begin- 
ning to  resemble  a  golf  course  we 
locked  Excalibur  up  in  the  wash- 
house,  where  his  hyena-like  howls 
rent  the  air  for  the  rest  of  the  evening, 
penetrating  even  to  the  dining-room. 
This  was  particularly  unfortunate, 
because  we  were  having  a  dinner 
party  in  honor  of  a  neighbor  who 
had  recently  come  to  the  district,  no 
less  a  personage,  in  fact,  than  the 
new  lord-lieutenant  of  the  county  and 

[35] 


SCALLY 

his  lady.  Stella  was  naturally  anx- 
ious that  there  should  be  no  embar- 
rassments on  such  an  occasion,  and 
it  distressed  her  to  think  that  these 
people  should  imagine  that  we  kept 
a  private  torture  chamber  on  the 
premises. 

However,  dinner  passed  off  quite 
successfully  and  we  adjourned  to  the 
drawing-room.  It  was  a  chilly  Sep- 
tember evening  and  Lady  Wickham 
was  accommodated  with  a  seat  by 
the  fire  in  a  la[rge  armchair,  with  a 
cushion  at  her  back.  When  the  gen- 
tlemen came  in  Eileen  sang  to  us. 
Fortunately  the  drawing-room  is  out 
of  range  of  the  washhouse. 

During  Eileen's  first  song  I  sat  by 
Lady  Wickham.  Her  expression  was 
one  of  patrician  calm  and  well-bred 
repose,  but  it  seemed  to  me  she  was 

[36] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

not  looking  quite  comfortable.  I 
was  not  feeling  quite  comfortable 
myself.  The  atmosphere  seemed  a 
trifle  oppressive:  perhaps  we  had 
done  wrong  in  having  a  fire  after  all. 
Lady  Wickham  appeared  to  notice 
it  too.  She  sat  very  upright,  fanning 
herself  mechanically,  and  seemed  dis- 
inclined to  lean  back  in  her  chair. 

After  the  song  was  finished  I  said: 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  not  quite 
comfortable,  Lady  Wickham.  Let 
me  get  you  a  larger  cushion." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lady  Wick- 
ham, "the  cushion  I  have  is  delight- 
fully comfortable;  but  I  think  there 
is  something  hard  behind  it." 

Apologetically  I  plucked  away  the 
cushion.  Lady  Wickham  was  right; 
there  was  something  behind  it. 

It  was  Excalibur's  bone  I 


IV 

A  WALK  along  the  village  street  was 
always  a  great  event  for  Excalibur. 
Still,  it  must  have  contained  many 
humiliating  moments  for  one  of  his 
sensitive  disposition;  for  he  was  al- 
ways pathetically  anxious  to  make 
friends  with  other  dogs,  but  was 
rarely  successful.  Little  dogs  merely 
bit  his  legs  and  big  dogs  cut  him  dead. 

I  think  this  was  why  he  usually 
commenced  his  morning  round  by 
calling  on  a  rabbit.  The  rabbit  lived 
in  a  hutch  in  a  yard  at  the  end  of 
a  passage  between  two  cottages,  the 
first  turning  on  the  right  after  you 
entered  the  village,  and  Excalibur  al- 
ways dived  down  this  at  the  earliest 
opportunity.  It  was  no  use  for  Ei- 

[38  ] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

leen,  who  usually  took  him  out  on 
these  occasions,  to  endeavor  to  hold 
him  back.  Either  Excalibur  called 
on  the  rabbit  by  himself  or  Eileen 
went  with  him;  there  was  no  other 
alternative. 

Arrived  at  the  hutch,  Excalibur 
wagged  his  tail  and  contejnplated 
the  rabbit  with  his  usual  air  of  vacu- 
ous benevolence.  The  rabbit  made 
not  the  faintest  response,  but  con- 
tinued to  munch  green  feed,  twitch- 
ing its  nose  in  a  superior  manner. 
Finally,  when  it  could  endure  Ex- 
calibur's  admiring  inspection  and 
hard  breathing  no  longer,  it  turned 
its  back  and  retired  into  its  bedroom. 

Excalibur's  next  call  was  usually  at 
the  butcher's  shop,  where  he  was 
presented  with  a  specially  selected 
and  quite  unsalable  fragment  of 


SCALLY 

meat.  He  then  crossed  the  road  to 
the  baker's,  where  he  purchased  a 
halfpenny  bun,  for  which  his  escort 
was  expected  to  pay.  After  that  he 
walked  from  shop  to  shop,  wherever 
he  was  taken,  with  great  docility  and 
enjoyment;  for  he  was  a  gregarious 
animal  and  had  a  friend  behind  or 
underneath  almost  every  counter  in 
the  village.  Men,  women,  babies, 
kittens,  even  ducks  —  they  were  all 
one  to  him. 

At  one  time  Eileen  had  endeavored 
to  teach  him  a  few  simple  accomplish- 
ments, such  as  begging  for  food, 
dying  for  his  country,  and  carrying 
parcels.  She  was  unsuccessful  in  all 
three  instances.  Excalibur  on  his 
hind  legs  stood  about  five  feet  six, 
and  when  he  fell  from  that  eminence, 
as  he  invariably  did  when  he  tried  to 
Uo] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

beg,  he  usually  broke  something.  He 
was  hampered,  too,  by  inability  to 
distinguish  one  order  from  another. 
More  than  once  he  narrowly  es- 
caped with  his  life  through  mistaking 
an  urgent  appeal  to  come  to  heel  out 
of  the  way  of  an  approaching  auto- 
mobile for  a  command  to  die  for  his 
country  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

As  for  educating  him  to  carry  par- 
cels, a  single  attempt  was  sufficient. 
The  parcel  in  question  contained  a 
miscellaneous  assortment  of  articles 
from  the  grocer's,  including  lard,  soap, 
and  safety  matches.  It  was  securely 
tied  up,  and  the  grocer  kindly  at- 
tached it  by  a  short  length  of  string 
to  a  wooden  clothespin,  in  order  to 
make  it  easier  for  Excalibur  to  carry. 
They  set  off  home. 

Excalibur  was  most  apologetic 
l.lxJ 


SCALLY 

about  it  afterward,  besides  being  ex- 
tremely unwell;  but  he  had  no  idea, 
he  explained  to  Eileen,  that  anything 
put  into  his  mouth  was  not  meant 
to  be  eaten.  He  then  tendered  the 
clothespin  and  some  mangled  brown 
paper,  with  an  air  of  profound  abase- 
ment. After  that  no  further  attempts 
at  compulsory  education  were  under- 
taken. 

It  was  his  daily  walk  with  Eileen, 
however,  which  introduced  Excalibur 
to  life  —  life  in  its  broadest  and  most 
romantic  sense.  As  I  was  not  privi- 
leged to  be  present  at  the  opening 
incident  of  this  episode,  or  at  most 
of  its  subsequent  developments,  the 
direct  conduct  of  this  narrative  here 
passes  out  of  my  hands. 

One  sunny  morning  in  July  a  young 
man  in  clerical  attire  sat  breakfast- 

[42    ] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

ing  in  his  rooms  at  Mrs.  Tice's.  Mrs. 
Tice's  establishment  was  situated  on 
the  village  street  and  Mrs.  Tice  was 
in  the  habit  of  letting  her  ground 
floor  to  lodgers  of  impeccable  respec- 
tability. 

It  was  half-past  eleven,  which  is  a 
late  hour  for  the  clergy  to  breakfast; 
but  this  young  man  appeared  to  be 
suffering  from  no  qualms  of  con- 
science on  the  subject.  He  was  mak- 
ing an  excellent  breakfast  and  read- 
ing the  Henley  results  with  a  mixture 
of  rapture  and  longing. 

He  had  just  removed  the  "  Sports- 
man "  from  the  convenient  buttress  of 
the  teapot  and  substituted  "  Punch  " 
when  he  became  aware  that  day  had 
turned  to  night.  Looking  up  he  per- 
ceived that  his  open  window,  which 
was  rather  small  and  of  the  casement 
[43] 


SCALLY 

variety,  was  completely  blocked  by 
a  huge,  shapeless,  and  opaque  mass. 
Next  moment  the  mass  resolved  it- 
self into  an  animal  of  enormous  size 
and  surprising  appearance,  which 
fell  heavily  into  the  room,  and 

Like  a  stream  that,  spouting  from  a  cliff, 
Fails  in  mid-air,  but,  gathering  at  the  base, 
Remakes  itself, 

rose  to  its  feet  and,  advancing  to  the 
table,  laid  a  heavy  head  on  the  white 
cloth  and  lovingly  passed  its  tongue 
—  which  resembled  that  of  the  great 
anteater  —  round  a  cold  chicken  con- 
veniently adjacent. 

Five  minutes  later  the  window 
framed  another  picture  —  this  time 
a  girl  of  twenty,  white-clad  and  wear- 
ing a  powder-blue  felt  hat,  caught  up 
on  one  side  by  a  silver  buckle  which 
twinkled  in  the  hot  morning  sun. 
[44] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

The  curate  started  to  his  feet.  Ex- 
calibur,  who  was  now  lying  on  the 
hearthrug  dismembering  the  chicken, 
thumped  his  tail  guiltily  on  the  floor, 
but  made  no  attempt  to  rise. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Eileen, 
"but  I  am  afraid  my  dog  is  trespass- 
ing. May  I  call  him  out?  " 

"Certainly!"  said  the  curate, 
"But"  —  he  racked  his  brains  to 
devise  some  means  of  delaying  the 
departure  of  this  radiant,  fragrant 
vision  —  "  he  is  not  the  least  in  the 
way.  I  am  very  glad  of  his  company ; 
it  was  most  neighborly  of  him  to  call. 
After  all,  I  suppose  he  is  one  of 
my  parishioners.  And  —  and  "  -  he 
blushed  -  "I  hope  you  are,  too." 

Eileen  gave  him  her  most  entranc- 
ing smile,  and  from  that  hour  the  cu- 
rate ceased  to  be  his  own  master. 
[45] 


SCALLY 

"I  suppose  you  are  Mr.  Gilmore," 
said  Eileen. 

"Yes.  I  have  been  here  only  three 
weeks  and  I  have  not  met  every  one 

yet." 

"I  have  been  away  for  two 
months,"  Eileen  mentioned. 

"I  thought  you  must  have  been," 
said  the  curate,  rather  subtly  for  him. 

"I  think  my  brother-in-law  called 
on  you  a  few  days  ago,"  continued 
Eileen,  on  whom  the  curate's  last  re- 
mark had  made  a  most  favorable 
impression.  She  mentioned  my  name. 

"  I  was  going  to  return  the  call  this 
very  afternoon,"  said  the  curate. 
And  he  firmly  believed  that  he  was 
speaking  the  truth.  "Won't  you 
come  in?  We  have  an  excellent  chap- 
eron," indicating  Excalibur.  "I  will 
come  and  open  the  door." 

[  46  ] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

"Well,  he  certainly  won't  come  out 
unless  I  come  and  fetch  him,"  ad- 
mitted Eileen  thoughtfully. 

A  moment  later  the  curate  was  at 
the  front  door  and  led  his  visitor 
across  the  little  hall  into  the  sitting- 
room.  He  had  not  been  absent  more 
than  thirty  seconds,  but  during  that 
time  a  plateful  of  sausages  had  mys- 
teriously disappeared;  and,  as  they 
entered,  Excalibur  was  apologetically 
settling  down  on  the  hearthrug  with  a 
cottage  loaf  between  his  paws. 

Eileen  uttered  cries  of  dismay  and 
apology,  but  the  curate  would  have 
none  of  them. 

"My  fault  entirely!"  he  insisted. 
"I  have  no  right  to  be  breakfasting 
at  this  hour;  but  this  is  my  day  off. 
You  see  I  take  early  Service  every 
morning  at  seven;  but  on  Wednes- 

[47  ] 


SCALLY 

days  we  cut  it  out  —  omit  it  and 
have  full  Matins  at  ten.  So  I  get  up 
at  half-past  nine,  take  Service  at  ten, 
and  come  back  to  my  rooms  at  eleven 
and  have  breakfast.  It  is  my  weekly 
treat." 

"You  deserve  it,"  said  Eileen  feel- 
ingly. Her  religious  exercises  were 
limited  to  going  to  church  on  Sunday 
morning  and  coming  out,  if  possible, 
after  the  Litany.  "And  how  do  you 
like  Much  Moreham?" 

"I  did  not  like  it  at  all  when  I 
came,"  said  the  curate,  "but  re- 
cently I  have  begun  to  enjoy  myself 
immensely."  He  did  not  say  how 
recently. 

"Were  you  in  London  before?" 

"Yes  —  in  the  East  -End.  It  was 
pretty  hard  work,  but  a  useful  experi- 
ence. I  feel  rather  lost  here  during 
[48] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

my  spare  time.  I  get  so  little  exer- 
cise. In  London  I  used  to  slip  away 
for  an  occasional  outing  in  a  Leander 
scratch  eight,  and  that  kept  me  fit.  I 
am  inclined,"  he  added  ruefully,  "to 
put  on  flesh." 

"Leander?  Are  you  a  Blue?" 

The  curate  nodded. 

:'You  know  about  rowing,  I  see," 
he  said  appreciatively.  "The  worst 
of  rowing,"  he  continued,  "is  that  it 
takes  up  so  much  of  a  man's  time  that 
he  has  no  opportunity  of  practicing 
anything  else  —  cricket,  for  instance. 
All  curates  ought  to  be  able  to  play 
cricket.  I  do  my  best;  but  there  is  n't 
a  single  boy  in  the  Sunday  School  who 
can't  bowl  me.  It 's  humiliating  I " 

"Do  you  play,  tennis  at  all?" 
asked  Eileen. 

"Yes,  in  a  way." 

[49  ] 


SCALLY 

"  I  am  sure  my  sister  will  be  pleased 
if  you  come  and  have  a  game  with  us 
some  afternoon." 

The  enraptured  curate  had  already 
opened  his  mouth  to  accept  this  de- 
mure invitation  when  Excalibur,  ris- 
ing from  the  hearthrug,  stretched 
himself  luxuriously  and  wagged  his 
tail,  thereby  removing  three  pipes, 
an  inkstand,  a  tobacco  jar,  and  a 
half-completed  sermon  from  the  writ- 
ing table. 


V 

EXCALIBUR  was  heavily  over- 
worked in  his  new  role  of  chaperon 
during  the  next  three  or  four  weeks, 
and  any  dog  less  ready  to  oblige  than 
himself  might  have  felt  a  little  ag- 
grieved at  the  treatment  to  which  he 
was  subjected. 

There  was  the  case  of  the  tennis 
lawn,  for  instance.  He  had  always 
regarded  this  as  his  own  particular 
sanctuary,  dedicated  to  reflection  and 
repose;  but  now  the  net  was  stretched 
across  it  and  Eileen  and  the  curate 
performed  antics  all  over  the  court 
with  rackets  and  small  white  balls 
which,  though  they  did  not  hurt  Ex- 
calibur,  kept  him  awake.  It  did  not 

[  5i  ] 


SCALLY 

occur  to  him  to  convey  himself  else- 
where, for  his  mind  moved  slowly; 
and  the  united  blandishments  of  the 
players  failed  to  bring  the  desirabil- 
ity of  such  a  course  home  to  him.  He 
continued  to  lie  in  his  favorite  spot 
on  the  sunny  side  of  the  court,  look- 
ing injured  but  forgiving,  or  slumber- 
ing perseveringly  amid  the  storm  that 
raged  round  him. 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  move 
Excalibur  once  he  had  decided  to  re- 
main where  he  was;  so  Eileen  and  the 
curate  agreed  to  regard  him  as  a  sort 
of  artificial  excrescence,  like  the  but- 
tress in  a  fives  court.  If  the  ball  hit 
him,  as  it  frequently  did,  the  player 
waiting  for  it  was  at  liberty  either  to 
play  it  or  claim  a  let.  This  arrange- 
ment added  a  piquant  and  pleasing 
variety  to  what  is  too  often  —  espe- 

[52    ] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

cially  when  indulged  in  by  mediocre 
players  —  a  very  dull  game. 

Worse  was  to  follow,  however.  One 
day  Eileen  and  the  curate  conducted 
Excalibur  to  a  neighboring  mountain 
range  —  at  least,  so  it  appeared  to 
Excalibur  —  and  played  another  ball 
game.  This  time  they  employed  long 
sticks  with  iron  heads,  and  two  balls, 
which,  though  they  were  much  small- 
er than  tennis  balls,  were  incredibly 
hard  and  painful.  Excalibur,  though 
willing  to  help  and  anxious  to  please, 
could  not  supervise  both  the  balls  at 
once.  As  sure  as  he  ran  to  retrieve 
one  the  other  came  after  him  and 
took  him  unfairly  in  the  rear.  Excali- 
bur was  the  gentlest  of  creatures,  but 
the  most  perfect  gentleman  has  his 
dignity  to  consider. 

After  having  been  struck  for  the 

[53] 


SCALLY 

third  time  by  one  of  these  balls  he 
whipped  round,  picked  it  up  in  his 
mouth  and  gave  it  a  tiny  pinch,  just 
as  a  warning.  At  least,  he  thought  it 
was  a  tiny  pinch.  The  ball  retaliated 
with  unexpected  ferocity.  It  twisted 
and  turned.  It  emitted  long,  snaky 
spirals  of  some  elastic  substance, 
which  clogged  his  teeth  and  tickled 
his  throat  and  wound  themselves 
round  his  tongue  and  nearly  choked 
him.  Panic-stricken,  he  ran  to  his 
mistress,  who,  with  weeping  and  with 
laughter,  removed  the  writhing  hor- 
ror from  his  jaws  and  comforted  him 
with  fair  words. 

After  that  Excalibur  realized  that 
it  is  wiser  to  walk  behind  golfers  than 
in  front  of  them.  It  was  a  boring 
business,  though,  and  very  exhaust- 
ing, for  he  loathed  exercise  of  every 

[54  ] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

kind;  and  his  only  periods  of  repose 
were  the  occasions  on  which  the  ex- 
pedition came  to  a  halt  on  certain 
small,  flat  lawns,  each  of  which  con- 
tained a  hole  with  a  flag  in  it. 

Here  Excalibur  would  lie  down, 
with  the  contented  sigh  of  a  tired 
child,  and  go  to  sleep.  As  he  almost 
invariably  lay  down  between  the  hole 
and  the  ball,  the  players  agreed  to  re- 
gard him  as  a  bunker.  Eileen  putted 
round  him;  but  the  curate  —  who 
had  little  regard  for  the  humbler 
works  of  creation,  Excalibur  thought 
—  used  to  take  his  mashie  and  at- 
tempt a  lofting  shot,  an  enterprise  in 
which  he  almost  invariably  failed,  to 
Excalibur's  great  inconvenience. 

Country  walks  were  more  tolerable, 
for  Eileen's  supervision  of  his  move- 
ments, which  was  usually  marked  by 

[55] 


SCALLY 

an  officious  severity,  was  sensibly  re- 
laxed on  these  days  and  Excalibur 
found  himself  at  liberty  to  range 
abroad  amid  the  heath  and  through 
the  coppices,  engaged  in  a  pastime 
that  he  imagined  was  hunting. 

One  hot  afternoon,  wandering  into 
a  clearing,  he  encountered  a  hare. 
The  hare,  which  was  suffering  from 
extreme  panic,  owing  to  a  terrifying 
noise  behind  it,  —  the  blast  of  the 
newest  and  most  vulgar  motor  horn, 
to  be  precise,  —  was  bolting  right 
across  the  clearing.  After  the  man- 
ner of  hares  where  objects  directly 
in  front  of  them  are  concerned,  the 
fugitive  entirely  failed  to  perceive 
Excalibur  and,  indeed,  ran  right  un- 
derneath him  on  its  way  to  cover. 
Excalibur  was  so  unstrung  by  this 
adventure  that  he  ran  back  to 

[56  ] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

where  he  had  left  Eileen  and  the 
curate. 

They  were  sitting  side  by  side  on 
the  grass  and  the  curate  was  holding 
Eileen's  hand. 

Excalibur  advanced  on  them  thank- 
fully and  indicated  by  an  ingratiat- 
ing smile  that  a  friendly  remark  or 
other  recognition  of  his  presence 
would  be  gratefully  received;  but 
neither  took  the  slightest  notice  of 
him.  They  continued  to  gaze  straight 
before  them  in  a  mournful  and  ab- 
stracted fashion.  They  looked  not 
so  much  at  Excalibur  as  through  him. 
First  the  hare,  then  Eileen  and  the 
curate!  Excalibur  began  to  fear  that 
he  had  become  invisible,  or  at  least 
transparent.  Greatly  agitated  he 
drifted  away  into  a  neighboring  plan- 
tation full  of  young  pheasants.  Here 

[57  ] 


SCALLY 

he  encountered  a  keeper,  who  was 
able  to  dissipate  his  gloomy  suspi- 
cions for  him  without  any  difficulty 
whatsoever.  But  Eileen  and  the  cu- 
rate sat  on. 

"A  hundred  pounds  a  year!"  re- 
peated the  curate.  "A  pass  degree 
and  no  influence!  I  can't  preach  and 
I  have  no  money  of  my  own.  Dear- 
est, I  ought  never  to  have  told 
you." 

"Told  me  what?"  inquired  Eileen 
softly.  She  knew  quite  well;  but  she 
was  a  woman,  and  a  woman  can  never 
let  well  enough  alone. 

The  curate,  turning  to  Eileen,  de- 
livered himself  of  a  statement  of 
three  words.  Eileen's  reply  was  a 
softly  whispered  Tu  quoque! 

"It  had  to  happen,  dear,"  she 
added  cheerfully,  for  she  did  not 

[58] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

share  the  curate's  burden  of  respon- 
sibility in  the  matter.  "If  you  had 
not  told  me  we  should  have  been  mis- 
erable separately.  Now  that  you 
have  told  me,  we  can  be  miserable  to- 
gether. And  when  two  people  who  — 
who — "  She  hesitated. 

The  curate  supplied  the  relative 
sentence.  Eileen  nodded  her  head  in 
acknowledgment. 

"Yes;  who  are  —  like  you  and  me 
—  are  miserable  together,  they  are 
happy!  See?" 

"I  see,"  said  the  curate  gravely. 
'Yes,  you  are  right  there;  but  we 
can't  go  on  living  on  a  diet  of  joint 
misery.  We  shall  have  to  face  the 
future.  What  are  we  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

Then  Eileen  spoke  up  boldly  for 
the  first  time. 

[59] 


SCALLY 

"Gerald,"  she  said,  "we  shall  sim- 
ply have  to  manage  on  a  hundred  a 
year." 

But  the  curate  shook  his  head. 

"Dearest,  I  should  be  an  utter  cad 
if  I  allowed  you  to  do  such  a  thing," 
he  said.  "A  hundred  a  year  is  less 
than  two  pounds  a  week!" 

"A  lot  of  people  live  on  less  than 
two  pounds  a  week,"  Eileen  pointed 
out  longingly. 

"Yes;  I  know.  If  we  could  rent  a 
three-shilling  cottage  and  I  could  go 
about  with  a  spotted  handkerchief 
round  my  neck,  and  you  could  scrub 
the  doorsteps  coram  populo,  we  might 
be  very  comfortable;  but  the  clergy 
belong  to  the  black-coated  class,  and 
people  in  the  lower  ranks  of  the  black- 
coated  class  are  the  poorest  people  in 
the  whole  wide  world.  They  have  to 
[  60] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

spend  money  on  luxuries  —  collars 
and  charwomen,  and  so  on  —  which 
a  workingman  can  spend  entirely  on 
necessities.  It  would  n't  merely  mean 
no  pretty  dresses  and  a  lot  of  hard 
work  for  you,  Eileen.  It  would  mean 
starvation!  Believe  me  —  I  know! 
Some  of  my  friends  have  tried  it  — 
and  I  know!" 

"What  happened  to  them?"  asked 
Eileen  fearfully. 

"They  all  had  to  come  down  in  the 
end  —  some  soon,  some  late,  but  all 
in  time  —  to  taking  parish  relief." 

"Parish  relief?" 

"Yes;  not  official,  regulation,  rate- 
aided  charity,  but  the  infinitely  more 
humiliating  charity  of  their  well-to- 
do  neighbors  —  quiet  checks,  second- 
hand dresses,  and  things  like  that. 
No,  little  girl;  you  and  I  are  too 

[61  ] 


SCALLY 

proud  —  too  proud  of  the  cloth — for 
that.  We  will  never  give  a  handle  to 
the  people  who  are  always  waiting  to 
have  a  fling  at  the  improvident  clergy 
—  not  if  it  breaks  our  hearts,  we 
won't!" 

"You  are  quite  right,  dear,"  said 
Eileen  quietly.  "We  must  wait." 

Then  the  curate  said  the  most  diffi- 
cult thing  he  had  said  yet:- — 

"I  shall  have  to  go  away  from 
here." 

Eileen's  hand  turned  cold  in  his. 

"Why?"  she  whispered;  but  she 
knew. 

"Because  if  we  wait  here  we  shall 
wait  forever.  The  last  curate  in 
Much  Moreham  —  what  happened 
to  him?" 

"He  died." 

"Yes  —  at  fifty-five;  and  he  had 
[  62  ] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

been  here  for  thirty  years.  Prefer- 
ment does  not  come  in  sleepy  villages. 
I  must  go  back  to  London." 

"The  East  End?" 

"East  or  south  or  north  —  it  does 
n't  signify.  Anywhere  but  west.  In 
the  east  and  south  and  north  there  is 
always  work  to  be  done  —  hard  work. 
And  if  a  parson  has  no  money  and 
no  brains  and  no  influence,  and  can 
only  work  —  run  clothing  clubs  and 
soup  kitchens,  and  reclaim  drunkards 
—  London  is  the  place  for  him.  So  off 
I  go  to  London,  my  beloved,  to  lay 
the  foundations  of  Paradise  for  you 
and  me  —  for  you  and  me!" 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  the 
pair  rose  to  their  feet  and  smiled  on 
each  other  extremely  cheerfully,  be- 
cause each  suspected  the  other  — 
rightly  —  of  low  spirits. 

[63  ] 


SCALLY 

"Shall  we  tell  people?"  asked  the 
curate. 

Eileen  thought,  and  shook  her 
head. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  nicer  not.  It  will 
make  a  splendid  secret." 

"Just  between  us  two,  eh?"  said 
the  curate,  kindling  at  the  thought. 

"Just  between  us  two,"  agreed 
Eileen.  And  the  curate  kissed  her 
very  solemnly.  A  secret  is  a  comfort- 
able thing  to  lovers,  especially  when 
they  are  young  and  about  to  be  lonely. 

At  this  moment  a  leonine  head, 
supported  on  a  lumbering  and  ill-bal- 
anced body,  was  thrust  in  between 
them.  It  was  Excalibur,  taking  sanc- 
tuary with  the  Church  from  the 
vengeance  of  the  Law. 

"We  might  tell  Scally,  I  think," 
said  Eileen. 

[64] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

4 'Rather!"  assented  the  curate. 
4 'He  introduced  us." 

So  Eileen  communicated  the  great 
news  to  Excalibur. 

"You  do  approve,  dear  —  don't 
you?"  she  said. 

Excalibur,  instinctively  realizing 
that  this  was  an  occasion  when  liber- 
ties might  be  taken,  stood  up  on  his 
hind  legs  and  placed  his  forepaws  on 
his  mistress's  shoulders.  The  curate 
supported  them  both. 

"  And  you  will  use  your  influence  to 
get  us  a  living  wage  from  somewhere 
—  won't  you,  old  man?"  added  the 
curate. 

Excalibur  tried  to  lick  both  their 
faces  at  once  —  and  succeeded. 


VI 

So  the  curate  went  away,  but  not 
to  London.  He  was  sent  instead  to 
a  great  manufacturing  town  in  the 
north,  where  the  work  was  equally 
hard,  and  where  Anglican  and  Roman 
'and  Salvationist  fought  grimly  side 
by  side  against  the  powers  of  drink 
and  disease  and  crime.  During  these 
days,  which  ultimately  rolled  into 
years,  'the  curate  lost  his  boyish 
freshness,  and  his  unfortunate  ten- 
dency to  put  on  flesh.  He  grew  thin 
and  lathy;  and,  though  his  smile  was 
as  ready  and  as  magnetic  as  ever,  he 
seldom  laughed. 

He  never  failed,  however,  to  write 
a  cheerful  letter  to  Eileen  every  Mon- 
day morning.  He  was  getting  a  hun- 

[66] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

dred  and  twenty  pounds  a  year  now; 
so  his  chances  of  becoming  a  million- 
aire had  increased  by  twenty  per 
cent. 

Meantime  his  two  confederates, 
Excalibur  and  Eileen,  continued  to 
reside  at  Much  Moreham.  Eileen 
was  still  the  recognized  beauty  of  the 
district,  but  she  spread  her  net  less' 
promiscuously  than  of  yore.  Girl 
friends  she  always  had  in  plenty,  but 
it  was  noticed  that  she  avoided  inti- 
macy with  all  eligible  males  of  over 
twenty  and  under  forty-five  years  of 
age.  No  one  knew  the  reason  for  this 
except  Excalibur.  Eileen  used  to  read 
Gerald's  letters  aloud  to  him  every 
Tuesday  morning;  sometimes  the 
letter  contained  a  friendly  message 
to  Excalibur  himself. 

In  acknowledgment  of  this  cour- 
[67] 


SCALLY 

tesy  Excalibur  always  sent  his  love 
to  the  curate  —  Eileen  wrote  every 
Friday  —  and  he  and  Eileen  walked 
together,  rain  or  shine,  on  Friday 
afternoons  to  post  the  letter  in  the 
next  village.  Much  Moreham's  post 
office  was  too  small  to  remain  oblivi- 
ous to  such  a  regular  correspond- 
ence. 

The  curate  was  seen  no  more  in  his 
old  parish.  Railroad  journeys  are 
costly  things  and  curates'  holidays 
rare.  Besides,  he  had  no  overt  excuse 
for  coming.  And  so  life  went  on  for 
five  years.  The  curate  and  Eileen 
may  have  met  during  that  period,  for 
Eileen  sometimes  went  away  visiting. 
As  Excalibur  was  not  privileged  to 
accompany  her  on  these  occasions  he 
had  no  means  of  checking  her  move- 
ments; but  the  chances  are  that  she 

[68] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

never  saw  the  curate,  or  I  think  she 
would  have  told  Excalibur  about  it. 
We  simply  have  to  tell  some  one. 

Then,  quite  suddenly,  came  a  tre- 
mendous change  in  Excalibur's  life. 
Eileen's  brother-in-law  —  he  was  Ex- 
calibur's master  no  longer,  for  Excali- 
bur had  been  transferred  to  Eileen 
by  deed  of  gift,  at  her  own  request,  on 
her  first  birthday  after  the  curate's 
departure  —  fell  ill.  There  was  an 
operation  and  a  crisis,  and  a  deal 
of  unhappiness  at  Much  Moreham; 
then  came  convalescence,  followed 
by  directions  for  a  sea  voyage  of  six 
months.  It  was  arranged  that  the 
house  should  be  shut  up  and  the  chil- 
dren sent  to  their  grandmother  at 
Bath. 

"That  settles  everything  and 
everybody,"  said  the  gaunt  man  on 

[69] 


SCALLY 

the  sofa,  "except  you,  Eileen?  What 
about  you?" 

"What  about  Scally?"  inquired 
Eileen. 

Her  brother-in-law  apologetically 
admitted  that  he  had  forgotten 
Scally. 

"Not  quite  myself  at  present/'  he 
mentioned  in  extenuation. 

"I  am  going  to  Aunt  Phoebe,"  an- 
nounced Eileen. 

"You  are  never  going  to  introduce 
Scally  into  Aunt  Phoebe's  establish- 
ment!" cried  Eileen's  sister. 

"No,"  said  Eileen,  "I  am  not." 
She  rubbed  Excalibur's  matted  head 
affectionately.  "  But  I  have  arranged 
for  the  dear  man's  future.  He  is 
going  to  visit  friends  in  the  north. 
Are  n't  you,  darling?" 

Excalibur,  to  whom  this  arrange- 
[70] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

ment  had  been  privately  communi- 
cated some  days  before,  wagged  his 
tail  and  endeavored  to  look  as  intelli- 
gent and  knowing  as  possible.  He 
was  not  going  to  put  his  beloved  mis- 
tress to  shame  by  admitting  to  her 
relatives  that  he  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  what  she  was  talking  about. 

However,  he  was  soon  to  under- 
stand. The  next  day  Eileen  took  him 
up  to  London  by  train.  This  in  itself 
was  a  tremendous  adventure,  though 
alarming  at  first.  He  traveled  in  the 
guard's  van,  it  having  been  found 
quite  impossible  to  get  him  into  an 
ordinary  compartment  —  or,  rather, 
to  get  any  one  else  into  the  com- 
partment after  he  lay  down  on  the 
floor.  So  he  traveled  with  the  guard, 
chained  to  the  vacuum  brake,  and 
shared  that  kindly  official's  dinner. 

[  7i  1 


SCALLY 

When  they  reached  the  terminus 
there  was  much  bustle  and  confusion. 
The  door  of  the  van  was  thrown  open 
and  porters  dragged  out  the  luggage 
and  submitted  samples  thereof  to 
overheated  passengers,  who  invari- 
ably failed  to  recognize  their  own 
property  and  claimed  some  one  else's. 

Finally,  when  the  luggage  was  all 
cleared  out,  the  guard  took  off  Excali- 
bur's  chain  and  facetiously  invited 
him  to  alight  for  London  Town.  Ex- 
calibur,  lumbering  delicately  across 
the  ribbed  floor  of  the  van,  arrived 
at  the  open  doorway.  Outside  on  the 
platform  he  espied  Eileen.  Beside  her 
stood  a  tall  figure  in  black. 

With  one  tremendous  roar  of  rap- 
turous recognition,  Excalibur  leaped 
straight  out  of  the  van  and  launched 
himself  fairly  and  squarely  at  the 
[72  1 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

curate's  chest.  Luckily  the  curate 
saw  him  coming. 

"He  knows  you,  all  right,"  said 
Eileen  with  satisfaction. 

"  He  appears  to, "replied  the  curate. 
"Afraid  I  don't  dance  the  tango, 
Scally,  old  man;  but  thanks  for  the 
invitation,  all  the  same!" 

Excalibur  spent  the  rest  of  the  day 
in  London,  where  it  must  be  admitted 
he  caused  a  genuine  sensation — no 
mean  feat  in  such  a  blase  place. 

In  Bond  Street  the  traffic  had  to 
be  held  up  both  ways  by  benevolent 
policemen,  because  Excalibur,  feeling 
pleasantly  tired,  lay  down  to  rest. 

When  evening  came  they  all  dined 
together  in  a  cheap  little  restaurant 
in  Soho  and  were  very  gay,  with  the 
gayety  of  people  who  are  whistling  to 
keep  their  courage  up.  After  dinner 


SCALLY 

Eileen  said  good-bye,  first  to  Excali- 
bur  and  then  to  the  curate.  She  was 
much  more  demonstrative  toward 
the  former  than  toward  the  latter, 
which  is  the  way  of  women. 

Then  the  curate  put  Eileen  into  a 
taxi  and,  having  with  the  aid  of  the 
commissionaire  extracted  Excalibur 
from  underneath — he  had  gone  there 
under  some  confused  impression  that 
it  was  the  guard's  van  again  —  said 
good-bye  for  the  last  time ;  and  Eileen, 
smiling  bravely,  was  whirled  away 
out  of  sight. 

As  the  taxi  turned  a  distant  corner 
and  disappeared  from  view,  it  sud- 
denly occurred  to  Excalibur  that  he 
had  been  left  behind.  Accordingly  he 
set  off  in  pursuit. 

The  curate  finally  ran  him  to  earth 
in  Buckingham  Palace  Road,  which 

I  74] 


A  PERFECT    GENTLEMAN 

is  a  long  chase  from  Soho,  where  he 
was  sitting  on  the  pavement,  to  the 
grave  inconvenience  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  Pimlico,  and  refusing  to  be 
comforted.  It  took  his  new  master 
the  best  part  of  an  hour  to  get  him 
to  Euston  Road,  where  it  was  dis- 
covered they  had  missed  the  night 
mail  to  the  north.  Accordingly  they 
walked  to  a  rival  station  and  took 
another  train. 

In  all  this  Excalibur  was  the  instru- 
ment of  Destiny,  as  you  shall  hear. 


VII 

THE  coroner's  jury  was  inclined  at 
the  time  to  blame  the  signalman,  but 
the  Board  of  Trade  inquiry  estab- 
lished the  fact  that  the  accident  was 
due  to  the  engine-driver's  neglect  to 
keep  a  proper  lookout.  However,  as 
the  driver  was  dead  and  his  fireman 
with  him,  the  law  very  leniently  took 
no  further  action  in  the  matter. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, as  the  train  was  crossing  a  bleak 
Yorkshire  moor  seven  miles  from  Tet- 
ley  Junction,  the  curate  suddenly  left 
the  seat  on  which  he  lay  stretched 
dreaming  of  Eileen  and  flew  across 
the  compartment  on  to  the  recum- 
bent form  of  a  stout  commercial  trav- 
[  76  1 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

eler.  Then  he  rebounded  to  the  floor 
and  woke  up  —  unhurt. 

"Tis  an  accident,  lad!"  gasped 
the  commercial  traveler  as  he  got  his 
wind. 

"So  it  seems,"  said  the  curate. 
"Hold  tight!  She's  rocking!" 

The  commercial  traveler,  who  was 
mechanically  groping  under  the  seat 
for  his  boots,  —  commercial  travelers 
always  remove  their  boots  in  third- 
class  railroad  compartments  when 
on  night  journeys,  —  followed  the  cu- 
rate's advice  and  braced  himself  with 
his  feet  against  the  opposite  seat  for 
the  coming  bouleversement. 

After  the  first  shock  the  train  had 
i 

gathered  way  again  —  the  light  en- 
gine into  which  it  had  charged  had 
been  thrown  clear  off  the  track  —  but 
only  for  a  moment.  Suddenly  the 

[77] 


SCALLY 

reeling  engine  of  the  express  left  the 
rails  and  staggered  drunkenly  along 
the  ballast.  A  moment  later  it  turned 
over,  taking  the  guard's  van  and  the 
first  four  coaches  with  it,  and  the 
whole  train  came  to  a  standstill. 

It  was  a  corridor  train,  and  unfor- 
tunately for  Gerald  Gilmore  and  the 
commercial  traveler  their  coach  fell 
over  corridor  side  downward.  There 
was  no  door  on  the  other  side  of  the 
compartment  —  only  three  windows, 
crossed  by  a  stout  brass  bar.  These 
windows  had  suddenly  become  sky- 
lights. 

They  fought  their  way  out  at  last. 
Once  he  got  the  window  open,  the 
curate  experienced  little  difficulty  in 
getting  through;  but  the  commercial 
traveler  was  corpulent  and  tenacious 
of  his  boots,  which  he  held  persis- 
ts ] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

tently  in  one  hand  while  Gerald 
tugged  at  the  other.  Still,  he  was 
hauled  up  at  last,  and  the  two  slid 
down  the  perpendicular  roof  of  the 
coach  to  the  permanent  way. 

''That's  done,  anyway!"  panted 
the  drummer;  and  sitting  down  he 
began  to  put  on  his  boots. 

"There's  plenty  more  to  do,"  said 
the  curate  grimly,  pulling  off  his  coat. 
"The  front  of  the  train  is  on  fire. 
Come!" 

He  turned  and  ran.  Almost  at  his 
first  step  he  cannoned  into  a  heavy 
body  in  rapid  motion.  It  was  Excali- 
bur. 

"That  you,  old  friend?"  observed 
the  curate.  "  I  was  on  my  way  to  see 
about  you.  Now  that  you  are  out, 
you  may  as  well  come  and  bear  a 
hand." 

[79] 


SCALLY 

The  pair  sprinted  along  the  line 
toward  the  blazing  coaches. 

It  was  dawn  —  gray,  weeping,  and 
cheerless  —  on  Tetley  Moor.  An- 
other engine  had  come  up  from  be- 
hind to  take  what  was  left  of  the  train 
back  to  the  Junction.  Seven  coaches, 
including  the  lordly  sleeping  saloon, 
stood  intact;  four,  with  the  engine 
and  tender,  lay  where  they  had  fallen, 
a  mass  of  charred  wood  and  twisted 
metal. 

A  motor  car  belonging  to  a  doctor 
stood  in  the  roadway  a  hundred  yards 
off,  and  its  owner,  with  a  brother  of 
the  craft  who  had  been  a  passenger 
on  the  train,  was  attending  to  the 
injured.  There  were  fourteen  of  these 
altogether,  mostly  suffering  from 
burns.  These  were  made  as  comfort- 
[80] 


A  PERFECT   GENTLEMAN 

able  as  possible  in  sleeping  berths 
their  owners  had  vacated. 

"Take  your  seats,  please!"  said 
the  surviving  guard  in  a  subdued 
voice.  He  spoke  at  the  direction  of  a 
big  man  in  a  heavy  overcoat,  who 
appeared  to  have  taken  charge  of  the 
salvage  operations.  The  passengers 
clambered  up  into  the  train. 

Only  one  hesitated.  He  was  a  long, 
lean  young  man,  black  from  head  to 
foot  with  soot  and  oil.  His  left  arm 
was  badly  burned;  and  seeing  a  doc- 
tor disengaged  at  last,  he  came  for- 
ward to  have  it  dressed. 

The  big  man  in  the  heavy  overcoat 
approached  him. 

"  My  name  is  Caversham,"  he  said. 
"I  happen  to  be  a  director  of  the 
company.  If  you  will  give  me  your 
name  and  address  I  will  see  to  it  that 

[81  ] 


SCALLY 

your  services  to-night  are  suitably 
recognized.  The  way  you  got  those 
two  children  out  of  the  first  coach 

was  splendid,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to 

•* 

say  so.  We  did  not  even  know  they 
were  there." 

The  young  man's  teeth  suddenly 
flashed  out  into  a  white  smile  against 
the  blackness  of  his  face. 

"Neither  did  I,  sir,"  he  said.  "Let 
me  introduce  you  to  the  responsible 
party." 

He  whistled.  Out  of  the  gray  dawn 
loomed  an  eerie  monster,  badly 
singed,  wagging  its  tail. 

"Scally,  old  man,"  said  the  curate, 
"this  gentleman  wants  to  present  you 
with  an  illuminated  address.  Thank 
him  prettily!"  Then,  to  the  doctor: 
"I'm  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you; 
it's  quite  comfortable  now." 
[  82  ] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

He  began  stiffly  to  pull  on  his  coat 
and  waistcoat.  Lord  Caversham, 
lending  a  hand,  noted  the  waistcoat 
and  said  quickly  :- 

"Will  you  travel  in  my  compart- 
ment? I  should  like  to  have  a  word 
with  you  if  I  may." 

"I  think  I  had  better  go  and  have 
a  look  at  those  poor  folks  in  the 
sleeper  first,"  replied  the  curate. 
"They  may  require  my  services  pro- 
fessionally." 

"At  the  Junction,  then,  perhaps?" 
suggested  Lord  Caversham. 

At  the  Junction,  howeVer,  the  cu- 
rate found  a  special  waiting  to  pro- 
ceed north  by  a  loop  line;  and,  being 
in  no  mind  to  receive  compliments  or 
waste  his  substance  on  a  hotel,  he  de- 
parted forthwith,  taking  his  charred 
confederate,  Excalibur,  with  him. 


VIII 

FORTUNE,  once  she  takes  a  fancy 
to  you,  is  not  readily  shaken  off,  how- 
ever, as  most  successful  men  are  al- 
ways trying  to  forget.  A  fortnight 
later  Lord  Caversham,  leaving  his 
hotel  in  a  great  northern  town,  en- 
countered an  acquaintance  he  had  no 
difficulty  whatever  in  recognizing. 

It  was  Excalibur,  jammed  fast  be- 
tween two  stationary  tramcars  —  he 
had  not  yet  shaken  down  to  town  life 
—  submitting  to  a  painful  but  effec- 
tive process  of  extraction  at  the  hands 
of  a  posse  of  policemen  and  tram  con- 
ductors, shrilly  directed  by  a  small 
but  commanding  girl  of  the  lodging- 
house-drudge  variety. 

When  this  enterprise  had  been 
[84  ] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

brought  to  a  successful  conclusion 
and  the  congested  traffic  moved  on 
by  the  overheated  policemen,  Lord 
Caversham  crossed  the  street  and 
tapped  the  damsel  on  the  shoulder. 

"Can  you  kindly  inform  me  where 
the  owner  of  that  dog  may  be  found?  " 
he  inquired  politely. 

"Yas.  Se'nty-one  Pilgrim  Street. 
But  'e  won't  sell  him." 

"Should  I  be  likely  to  find  him  at 
home  if  I  called  now?" 

"Yas.  Bin  in  bed  since  the  acci- 
dent. Got  a  nasty  arm." 

"Perhaps  you  would  not  mind  ac- 
companying me  back  to  Pilgrim 
Street  in  my  car?" 

After  that  Mary  Ellen's  mind  be- 
came an  incoherent  blur.  A  stately 
limousine  glided  up;  Mary  Ellen  was 
handed  in  by  a  footman  and  Excali- 

[85  ] 


SCALLY 

bur  was  stuffed  in  after  her  in  install- 
ments. The  grand  gentleman  entered 
by  the  opposite  door  and  sat  down 
beside  her;  but  Mary  Ellen  was  much 
too  dazed  to  converse  with  him. 

The  arrival  of  the  equipage  in  Pil- 
grim Street  was  the  greatest  moment 
of  Mary  Ellen's  life. 

Meantime  upstairs  in  the  first-floor 
front  the  curate,  lying  in  his  uncom- 
fortable flock  bed,  was  saying:  — 

"If  you  really  mean  it,  sir  — " 

"I  do  mean  it.  If  those  two  chil- 
dren had  been  burned  to  death  un- 
noticed I  should  never  have  forgiven 
myself,  and  the  public  would  never 
have  forgiven  the  company." 

"Well,  sir,  since  you  say  that,  you 
—  well,  you  could  do  me  a  service. 
Could  you  possibly  use  your  influ- 
ence to  get  me  a  billet  —  I'm  not 

[86  ] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

asking  for  an  incumbency;  any  old 
curacy  would  do  —  a  billet  I  could 
marry  on?"  He  flushed  scarlet.  "I 
—  we  have  been  waiting  a  long  time 
now." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  the 
curate  wondered  whether  he  had 
been  too  mercenary  in  his  request. 
Then  Lord  Caversham  asked:  - 

"What  are  you  getting  at  pres- 
ent?" 

"A  hundred  and  twenty  a  year." 
This  was  about  two  thirds  of  the 
salary  Lord  Caversham  paid  his 
chauffeur.  He  asked  another  ques- 
tion in  his  curious,  abrupt  staccato 
manner:  — 

"How  much  do  you  want?" 
"We  could  make  both  ends  meet  on 
two  hundred ;  but  another  fifty  would 
enable  me  to  make  her  a  lot  more 
[87  J 


SCALLY 

comfortable,"  said  the  curate  wist- 
fully. 

The  great  man  surveyed  him  si- 
lently —  wonderingly,  too,  if  the  cu- 
rate had  known.  Presently  he  asked: 

"Afraid  of  hard  work?" 

"No  work  is  hard  to  a  man  with  a 
wife  and  a  home  of  his  own,"  replied 
the  curate  with  simple  fervor. 

Lord  Caversham  smiled  grimly. 
He  had  more  homes  of  his  own  than 
he  could  conveniently  live  in,  and  he 
had  been  married  three  times;  but 
even  he  found  work  hard  now  and 
then. 

"  I  wonder ! "  he  said.  "  Well,  good- 
afternoon.  I  should  like  to  be  intro- 
duced to  your  fiancee  some  day." 


IX 

A  TRAMP  opened  the  rectory  gate 
and  shambled  up  the  neat  gravel 
walk  toward  the  house.  Taking  a 
short  cut  through  the  shrubbery  he 
emerged  suddenly  on  a  little  lawn. 

On  the  lawn  a  lady  was  sitting  in  a 
basket  chair  beside  a  perambulator, 
the  occupant  of  which  was  slumber- 
ing peacefully.  A  small  but  intensely 
capable  nursemaid,  prone  on  the 
grass  in  a  curvilinear  attitude,  was 
acting  as  tunnel  to  a  young  gentle- 
man of  three  who  was  impersonating 
a  locomotive. 

The  tramp  approached  the  group 

and  asked  huskily  for  alms.   He  was 

a  burly  and  unpleasant  specimen  of 

his  class  —  a  class  all  too  numerous 

[89  ] 


SCALLY 

on  the  outskirts  of  the  great  indus- 
trial parish  of  Smeltingborough.  The 
lady  in  the  basket  chair  looked  up. 

"The  rector  is  out,"  she  said.  "If 
you  go  into  the  town  you  will  find  him 
at  the  Church  Hall  and  he  will  inves- 
tigate your  case." 

"Oh,  the  rector  is  out,  is  he?"  re- 
peated the  tramp  in  tones  of  distinct 
satisfaction. 

"Yes,"  said  Eileen. 

The  tramp  advanced  another  pace. 

"Give  us  half  a  crown!"  he  said. 
"I  have  n't  had  a  bite  of  food  since 
yesterday,  lady  —  nor  a  drink  nei- 
ther," he  added  humorously. 

"Please  go  away!"  said  the  lady. 
"You  know  where  to  find  the  rec- 
tor." 

The  tramp   smiled   unpleasantly, 
but  made  no  attempt  to  move. 
[90] 


A  PERFECT  GENTLEMAN 

"You  refuse  to  go  away?"  the 
lady  said. 

"I'll  go  for  half  a  crown,"  replied 
the  tramp  with  the  gracious  air  of 
one  anxious  to  oblige  a  lady. 

"Watch  baby  for  a  moment,  Mary 
Ellen,"  said  Eileen. 

She  rose  and  disappeared  into  the 
house,  followed  by  the  gratified  smile 
of  the  tramp.  He  was  a  reasonable 
man  and  knew  that  ladies  did  not 
wear  pockets. 

'Thirsty  weather,"  he  remarked 
affably. 

Mary  Ellen,  keeping  one  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  Master  Gerald  Caver- 
sham  Gilmore  and  the  other  on  the 
edge  of  the  baby's  perambulator, 
merely  chuckled  sardonically. 

The  next  moment  there  were  foot- 
steps round  the  corner  of  the  house 
[91  1 


SCALLY 

and  Eileen  reappeared.  She  was 
clinging  with  both  hands  to  the  collar 
of  an  enormous  dog.  Its  tongue  lolled 
from  its  great  jaws;  its  tail  waved 
menacingly  from  side  to  side;  its 
great  limbs  were  bent  as  though  for  a 
spring.  Its  eyes  were  half  closed  as 
though  to  focus  the  exact  distance. 

"Run!"  cried  Eileen  to  the  tramp. 
44 1  can't  hold  him  in  much  longer!" 
)  This  was  true  enough,  except  that 
when  Eileen  said  "in"  she  meant 
"up."  But  the  tramp  did  not  linger 
to  discuss  grammar.  There  was  a 
scurry  of  feet,  the  gate  banged  and 
he  was  gone. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  Eileen  let  go  of 
Excalibur's  collar.  Excalibur  prompt- 
ly collapsed  on  the  grass  and  went  to 
sleep  again. 

THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .   A 


THIS  BOOK 


355263 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


